


Distortions and Dreams

by cdra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [20]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bukkake, Gangbang, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Other, Train Sex, Wet Dream, ren's kind of just a dumb horny boy sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 07:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21157520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: Repressed desires mixed with the distorted haze of Mementos lead to Ren having a weird, but pretty hot, dream(?).[Kinktober Day 22 - Bukkake, Window Sex]





	Distortions and Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> SURPRISE it's not a fire emblem or gbf piece?!
> 
> joker getting gangbanged in mementos traincars is one of those universal constants of this world that I have written before and read several times, and yet here I am doing it again ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ it's a good one so I really can't be held at fault for this.

The scene plays out again, the way it has every time before. Ren doesn’t remember how he got here, if the vague memory of being grabbed by shadowy arms was a recent reality or something his subconscious dredged up as an explanation for why he’s inside of one of those eerie, empty-from-outside traincars in the winding tracks of Mementos—the edges of his vision are blurry, a little unreal, but the sensation of transparent hands wandering along his skin is clear as day.

As if coming to from a haze, Ren thrashes blindly against the touch of the shadows and the bindings that lash his wrists to the railings above. He shakes his head to clear his vision and realizes his mask is on his face, and his phantom thief’s outfit fits tight against his body—so he should, in theory, be safe from the distortions, at least in the deep and irreparable ways. The surface effects, however, can’t be repelled so easily.

“Hey, what are you—” he hisses, more confused than repulsed; while there don’t appear to be any people in the traincar, the amorphous shapes of shadows feel terribly like bodies crowded around him, and he can almost feel his spine crawl with how they stare at him.

_“Crowded subways are the best!” _A watery, indistinct voice says from an unidentifiable direction. _“It’s just like one of those movies online…”_ Another rises just above the low chatter that fills the train; a hand grabs at Joker’s ass, and another slides up his neck to the edge of his jaw. He grits his teeth, trying to remember the playbook—all he can determine sensibly is that he doesn’t hate it, even though he sort of thinks that he should.

One of the shadow-hands pulls his shirt up as it travels up his chest beneath tight fabric, its touch almost slick where it glides along his skin. Ren bites back whatever sound his throat threatens to make and arches his back; he wriggles in place, but the shadows only melt against his hips and tug his pants away. Cloth comes peeled away from his body a little at a time, his shirt pushed up above his ribs and his pants pulled down do his knees. They don’t seem to care about stripping him entirely, only touching more and more of his exposed skin, grabbing and teasing at hips and nipples and asscheeks like they can’t possibly get enough.

_“It’s so nice to just touch someone like this~”_ The voices hum, pleased, and Joker feels a flush rising to his skin to greet the amorphous touches that mold against his skin. _“Even just watching is making my heart flutter!”_ says another, as if to remind Ren that he’s the star of the show. There’s an appeal to it, to the way all these faceless forms watch him as he falls slowly into disarray: everyone’s getting off to _him_, Joker, the charismatic and cool leader of the phantom thieves. _Joker _can pull of sexy even when he’s a mess—Ren might be awkward and forcibly repressed, but there’s no need for Joker to hide.

He’s pulled from his distracted train of thought by the sensation of something a bit thicker than fingers prodding at his backside; Joker whines a bit at the pressure. _“Wow, this slut’s getting all turned on, too! This is just too great—”_ Another shadow liquefies and molds itself around his half-hard cock like a sleeve. Ren’s body threatens to collapse forward but his bindings catch him—he ends up bent over awkwardly, arms trembling over his head, as he glances up at the large figure of a shadow forming in front of him. There’s no doubt that the appendage bobbing proudly in front of Joker’s face is meant to be a dick, despite the weird tendrils along its shaft and the spaded shape of the head.

Without the hesitation he ought to have, Joker opens his mouth just enough and the shadow immediately grabs his hair hard and shoves its length into his very throat. Somehow, he doesn’t gag, maybe because his body isn’t really here, but his vision goes spotty anyway. _“Who’d have thought the leader of the phantom thieves was such a needy whore?”_ one of the shadows purrs, low and hungry. Ren whimpers a bit as the shadow begins to fuck his throat, unabashedly thrusting deeper than it should and making it hard to breathe—but for some reason, it doesn’t hurt at all.

Behind him, another shadow looms and the pressure at his entrance increases; it doesn’t take the time to prepare him at all, but merely fucks into him in one go. Joker keens at the harsh sensation but his body seems numb to the discomfort of it all, except in how his legs shudder and his arms go weak from their awkward positioning.

_“No one will stop us if everyone’s enjoying the show,”_ a shadow hums, _“not that you’d want that, either. You’re squeezing us so tight, but you’ve taken plenty of dicks like this before, haven’t you?”_

It feels almost like they’re voicing his own thoughts, his own drunk and distorted desires, with how easily he sinks into the vulgar words the shadows spout. His mask slips to the side, askew from how harshly the shadow handles him, and it makes it hard to see—not that Joker needs to be able to see to tell how excited the shadows are, wriggling in the corners of his vision and raising the heat in the stifling, stuffy car. Something grabs his hips hard enough to plant bruises in his skin and the shadow behind him groans loudly; it begins to fuck him in earnest, its cock throbbing as it grows larger yet inside of Joker, and his nails dig into his palms as he whines.

_“Ahh, amazing~”_ a lighter but no less distorted voice sighs, _“It’s like a dream, getting to fuck one of the phantom thieves like this—!”_ Joker’s head goes numb as the shadows rail him without mercy; the one curled around his cock pumps lazily, but he’s no closer to climax despite its ministrations.

The shadow behind him hits a particular angle and Joker keens desperately at the harsh wave of pleasure it sparks through his body; the one in his mouth throbs, and it slams in hard as it spills sticky-sweet, purple-tinted cum into the back of his throat. Joker coughs and forces himself to swallow as the shadow’s cock twitches and its release starts to drip down his chin in a debauched display; it pulls away with a long, pleased sigh, only for another, more curved shape to take its place.

_“You can please all of us, right? What a perfect fucktoy you make.” _It tilts Joker’s chin up, and his eyes rise hazily. He barely opens his mouth to respond only for the shadow behind him to fill him to the brim yet and come with a low cry; Joker’s vision goes fuzzy and he arches up as it pumps its release into him. The shadow in front of him pumps itself a few times and gets off as well, sending ropes of oddly-iridescent release spurting over his face.

Another pair of hands undoes the ropes that bound his wrists to the handrails and Joker falls into the waiting grasp of the shadows, shuddering and panting. Instinctively, he reaches up to wipe away the fluid that stains his face, but he only ends up covering his gloves in it. It’s chaotic; he can’t keep track of the shadows in the slightest, but he knows to jerk them off when something grabs his wrist and puts his hand to another hot, throbbing shape. Behind him, a shadow grabs at his chest and pulls him up so that he can lean back against its broadness; he’s far more exposed, like this, but he’s given no quarter to complain as it fucks into him eagerly and makes him cry out sharply.

_“Me too, me too—”_ Something thick presses into his mouth, not so much fucking his throat now as letting him suck distractedly on it. _“I wanna fuck him, too,”_ Joker whines, but he almost finds it funny how hot it all seems. It feels _good_, criminally and insanely so, and he can’t help but want to satisfy all the nonsensical desires that surround him. The shadows he’s jerking off come together in tandem, covering him in another coat of hot, heady-smelling fluid, and Joker grins sloppily as the one in his mouth pulls away.

_“Yes, all of us, the whole audience, too—”_ Joker squeaks as he’s lifted up and unceremoniously pressed against the wide, glass window of the traincar; his gloved hands smear obscene fluid along the glass as he tries to stabilize himself. He’s not sure if it’s the same shadow that thrusts into him now, but one does without delay—and somehow, another joins it, stretching him to his limit as he whines ungracefully.

Joker pants as he adjusts to the overwhelming pressure; he feels like his head’s not fully screwed on, but he hardly even cares. _“Look, they’re watching, too,”_ a shadow purrs beside his ear, prompting Joker to look out the dirtied window. His subconscious fills in familiar faces in the amorphous crowd, though he somehow knows that no one’s actually there—but the idea’s sort of nice, that his fellow thieves are watching him get fucked stupid with their eyes wide and hungry, so he goes along with it with a hazy smirk.

“Let ‘em watch,” Joker slurs between whines, “It’s fine—if _everyone _sees what a fucking mess I am.” The words are distant, a little fuzzy like what the shadows keep saying—maybe it’s the same, all one foggy mess of unspoken needs and wants distorted by the metaverse’s particular weirdness.

_“Wow, he really likes that,”_ the shadows chatter, _“A total slut who loves to be watched—that’s so fucking hot.”_ Joker arches into the window, his breath fogging the glass as his pants morph into breathless sobs. _“Just like one of those hentai girls! Totally sexy~”_ One of the shadows inside of him gets off loudly, but it’s replaced with another as soon as it pulls out. Somehow, despite the overwhelming friction and pressure of being fucked by two shadows at once, Joker still can’t get off himself—like they’re forcibly holding him at the blurry, half-numb edge of climax until they’re done with him.

It becomes a blur how many of them have used him, how many of them have gotten off at his sides and left him practically drenched in their release—time loses all meaning, and he can barely even make out all the obscene half-praises that the louder shadows sing of him as they ruin him. It’s too much but not enough, a constant repetition of being filled and pushed to the brink until he feels like he might go unconscious from the sheer weight of it all.

Ren comes with a start, but the scene breaks and scatters in the same instance—he’s panting and sweating and staring up at the ceiling of his room, rather than out the window of a traincar full of horny shadows. He blinks rapidly as cool air reaches his lungs, like he hadn’t had a hint of such in hours while trapped in the wildness of that fantasy, a runaway desire rooted in his own stupid, horny thoughts.

He groans in frustration and lifts an arm to cover his flushed face; just the memory has him feeling exhausted, and the thought of Morgana asking questions about it is enough to make him contemplate death instead of dishonor.


End file.
